


We'll Pave the Way in Red

by Akiko_Natsuko



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Accidents, Blood and Injury, Friendship/Love, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, Promises, Serious Injuries, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 16:35:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19705243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akiko_Natsuko/pseuds/Akiko_Natsuko
Summary: It took him a moment too long to realise that the blade had hit home, that Misaki hadn’t moved in time, a split second too slow as he lifted the staff to block him.A practice spar goes wrong.





	We'll Pave the Way in Red

There had always been a rush when they fought each other, whether they just sparring or going for each other’s throats, and they had both leapt at the chance to spar again when Fushimi had suggested it after a lazy afternoon of hanging out. They were slowly building their friendship back up and forming the foundation for something more, something they were both aware of but had skittered away from actually discussing it so far. They hadn’t changed that much, and while they were trying to talk and listen more, it was still very much a work in progress. It was easier to fall back into old habits, albeit softened by the new understanding before them, although he found it harder than he cared to admit to not be caught by the spark in the vanguard’s eyes at the prospect of a fight, and to stop the curl of excitement in the pit of his stomach.

It had been a while. Their new understanding and the destruction of the slates had eased most of the tensions between them, and the clans as a whole, and there had been enough chaos left in the aftermath that it had been difficult to even snatch the moments to hang out and talk. But he had finally got through the piles of paperwork that his ‘betrayal’ and the aftermath had somehow managed to dump on his desk, and Misaki was finally willing to Anna out of his sight more, now that he knew there was no one directly targeting her.

However, as they wound their way through the streets, heading for a patch of old grassy land that had been another of their old stomping grounds, and one of the few places that they wouldn’t risk causing havoc, it felt like nothing had changed. Well nothing, and everything, he amended as he glanced across at Misaki, feeling that curl of excitement again. However, he hid it behind his typical smirk when Yata shot a look at him, fighting to stop it from transforming into a softer smile as Yata’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“What?”

“I was just thinking about how I’m going to kick your ass,” Fushimi retorted, chuckling as Yata fluffed up like an angry bird. _He hasn’t changed that much,_ it was an oddly comforting thought, and he knew that his expression must have softened because the vanguard was frowning with confusion as he studied him, before sniffing and flipping his board around in his hands.

“We’ll see about that.”

*

The grassy area stretched between an area of warehouses at the edge of HOMRA’s territory. It was a little less maintained than he remembered, rubbish piling up around the edges, but otherwise, it was unchanged. He knew that there had been a couple of attempts to develop it or do something with it, but it had always fallen through, in part because of HOMRA’s reputation. The rest of the world might not have known about Kings and Swords, but the Red Clan had been highly visible and well known in the area. He hoped that it would protect this small chunk of their past just a little longer as he saw Misaki looking across at one of the walls where he had once burnt the HOMRA mark with their initials underneath. The memory that would have once needled him, or made him lash out just to stop himself feeling the sting of loss, was now tinged with fondness, even if he had no intention of going back to HOMRA, even if anything did change between him and Misaki.

“I thought you wanted to fight?” Yata bless his heart ruined the moment, having lost interest in that bit of their past and turning back to face him, abandoning his skateboard, and pulling his staff from his back and spinning it in front of him. Sparks danced around the ends, the crimson already fading and Fushimi knew that it wouldn’t be long before they were gone entirely. It was the same with his blue as he held up his hand, letting the light dance around his fingers. He wasn’t quite sure what either of them would do when the sanctums disappeared completely, but that was a worry for another time, because he heard the challenge in the words, and couldn’t help but respond in kind.

“I do, I was just giving you a chance to back out,” he retorted, hand already moving, knives sliding into his hands with practised ease. He sprang up and back, blades a blur of silver in the air as he tossed them at the vanguard, trying to use surprise to his advantage, unsurprised when flames blasted the first two out of the air before they were even halfway to Yata. The next two, he caught with his staff. The last one being flicked into the air, before he caught it deftly, a throwback to their last confrontation before Totsuka had been murdered. Their eyes meeting for a second, as Yata torched the knife, before lunging forwards, fire flickering around his feet.

Fushimi met him midway, deflecting the first swing by catching it on the edge of a knife, blue light shielding him and allowing him to push Yata back. He wasn’t fast enough to dodge the second one though, grunting as the tip of the staff caught his jaw with bruising force, and yet despite the pain he was grinning as he dodged backwards, blades a blur as the vanguard followed. This he knew. It was muscle memory at this point, a dance that they both knew well, and had never really danced with another partner. Fushimi slipping beneath another lunge, and then up, knife ghosting against Yata’s throat before flames filled his vision, and Misaki was flipping himself up and over him, with a fierce war shout it. It was a matter of instinct, rather than thought, as he twisted around to face Yata, just as the vanguard landed and swung at him from behind.

They fell into the rhythm of it. Blocking, parrying and attacking. The only difference and one that he barely noticed until he thought about it was that there was no anger in their movements, no forced hatred clouding their thoughts. It was a welcome change, he realised, catching Yata’s gaze as the crow fell back to avoid the edge of his blade, seeing the spark in the hazel eyes that he had never allowed himself to miss before. It was the same one that had been there Yata had forced himself into his space, back before they had even heard of HOMRA or Kings. The same light that had been there the day they had joined HOMRA standing side by side. A look that he had convinced himself was not for him, but for the red that had stolen Misaki away, but there were no Kings now. No Mikoto. And the flames were faded, the glow and flicker of them duller than he could ever remember seeing them before, and yet the spark was there.

_Because of him…_

That passed a little too close to the topic of what was blooming between them, and the distraction cost him as he was flung up and back, the breath driven out of him as Yata’s staff slammed into his stomach. Friends they might, _and possibly something more,_ but Misaki had never been one to hold back in a fight, especially against him, and Fushimi growled as he straightened, blue flaring around him. He would consider the implications of those thoughts later. Preferably when the vanguard wasn’t grinning at him triumphantly, with that all-too distracting spark in his eyes. “Sloppy Mi-sa-ki,” he drawled, not meaning it for a moment, but needling. Just because things were improving between them, it didn’t mean that the past was forgotten or that Yata had changed who he was fundamental, a scowl spreading across his face at the teasing nickname.

The blade left his fingers even as the scowl deepened. A perfect throw, one that would have downed most people without trouble. However, he knew that it wouldn’t be enough here, it never was when the vanguard was involved, even with their powers slowly fading away, but that was why this was so good. Because he could fight all out without worrying that he was going to take down his opponent because, for all that he had always mocked Misaki, he was a skilled fighter. Too hot-headed at times, or most of the time, he amended, but he knew what he was doing in a fight, and he knew how Fushimi fought, the tricks he played, and Fushimi was waiting for the sound of the knife being deflected by the whirling staff.

That was why it took him a moment too long to realise that the blade had hit home, that Misaki hadn’t moved in time, a split second too slow as he lifted the staff to block him. He’d already had another knife in his hand ready to throw, but now it fell from shaking fingers as he took a cautious step forward, mouth open and hand rising, as though he could take it back. But he couldn’t, and he found himself faltering as Misaki finally moved, staff falling to the ground with a dull thud that sounded far too loud in the silence, even as roaring sound started to fill his ears. The vanguard looked stunned, as though he hadn’t quite caught up to events either, but then his hand was rising, creeping towards the knife in his chest, but not quite touching him.

“…Misaki?”

Misaki blinked, eyes drifting to him, visibly struggling to connect the dots and Fushimi felt sick as the gaze lost focused and shifted back to the knife. Now, his fingers brushed the hilt, and for a terrifying moment, the Blue thought he was about to wrench it out, and he forced out a soft noise of alarm, the only sound he could make. It distracted the vanguard, making him flinch, and with the movement, he paled, the colour seeming to drain from his face. Mirrored by the red that was seeping into the front of his top now, and for a moment, all Fushimi could think was that he had always hated red, as his eyes traced the spread. Shock rooting him in place.

“S-sloppy…” Yata laughed even as his voice wavered, a shaky broken sound that was so out of place in the current situation that Fushimi physically flinched as he heard it, hands trembling as he reached for the other, feet locked in place by the shock gripping him. _What had he done?_ It had been a good throw, but a simple one. One that should never have been enough to hit Misaki let along do this…but then Misaki was falling, crumpling soundlessly to the ground, and it was the silence more than anything that shattered him, terror propelling him forward.

“MISAKI!” He screamed, the sound tearing itself free as he closed the distance between them, fumbling for his phone, even as he dropped to his knees beside the vanguard. “Misaki!” Yata was still conscious, albeit barely, struggling to open his eyes as he registered the movement.

“S…?”

“It’s…” Fushimi choked up for a moment. He had never been good at comforting other people, and right now with panic, and guilt and a hundred other emotions holding him hostage, he wasn’t sure that he could speak. But he had to because there was fear in the hazy, unfocused gaze, and it burned him more than Misaki’s flames ever could, forcing him to swallow. “You’re going to be okay.” It sounded empty in his own ears, meaningless words as he fumbled with his phone, but Misaki was looking at him now and trying to focus. “You’re going to be fine.” He repeated, soft and fierce, before pressing the phone to his ear as he rang Scepter 4, trusting them more than anything else.

His gaze never left Yata as he called for help, focusing on the slow blinking, and the ragged sound of the vanguard’s breathing rather than the red that was still spreading, soaking into Yata’s top. The focus helped. His words short, but clear as he relayed the situation and their location, Munakata’s voice a reassuring bark in his ear, and he waited long enough for his King…former-King… to say that help was one the way before he let the phone fall so that he could focus on Yata who was beginning to slip, taking longer and longer between each blink. “Did you hear that?” He demanded, voice deliberately loud, as he shrugged off his coat. “Help is on the way, so you just need to hold on a little longer, all right?” He didn’t wait for an answer, before he pressed his coat down around the wound, careful not to shift the knight out of place, not sure how much damage he had caused, and refusing to let the vanguard bleed out. The pain roused Yata, and he groaned, trying to shift away from the pressure, pawing weakly at Fushimi’s arms.

“N…”

“Sorry, Misaki.” Gods was he sorry, and for far more than the pain he was currently causing the vanguard, his stomach twisting itself into knots, as Misaki continued to try and escape for a few more seconds, before he stilled, breathing more strained than ever. “I know it hurts.” He remembered the burn of the knife in his leg. That had been bad enough, he didn’t want to imagine how much pain Yata had to be in right now. _Because of me._ He wanted to throw up, but he couldn’t move. Couldn’t take his eyes of Yata, as the vanguard shifted and whimpered beneath the pressure. “You’re going to be okay. You just need to hold on.” _Please,_ he wanted to add, but he didn’t think that he had the right to ask for anything from Misaki right now. Not with his knife standing tall in Yata’s chest, moving with each laboured rise and fall of his chest.

He jolted a moment later when fingers curled around his wrist, not pushing him away this time, but holding him close, stomach rolling as he realised that Misaki’s fingers were bloody, smearing against his skin. However, his attention was diverted by Misaki’s voice. “’ kay…” Even sitting this close, he almost missed it as it was little more than a breath of sound, accompanied by a bubble of blood that formed and burst in the corner of the vanguard’s mouth. Yata was looking at him with half-lidded eyes, and the trust in them shook him to the core because Misaki shouldn’t be looking at him like that, not right now. But his gaze wasn’t wavering, his grip tightening a little as though he could hear the doubts and fears assailing the blue. “G-glad you’re…here.”

That declaration used up what little strength he’d had left, his fingers falling away from Fushimi’s wrist as his eyes slid shut, and for a terrifying moment, Fushimi thought that it was too late, even as he heard sirens in the distance. But the vanguard’s breathing didn’t falter, as ragged and unsteady as it was, and his vision blurred as he focused on the rise and fall of Yata’s chest. _He’s okay. He’s going to be okay._ It was easier to focus on that, than what the vanguard had said. There had been an absolution in those words, one that he didn’t deserve and wasn’t had no intention of accepting until Yata was back on his feet, and able to decide, without pain and fear clouding his thoughts, if he still deserved it, even if he was terrified of what the answer might be.

Yet, as the sirens drew closer, help screeching towards them, he couldn’t forget the words or the trust behind them. And as he glanced down at where Misaki’s blood now stained his wrist, trembling hands still maintaining the pressure, and under the cover, he realised that they couldn’t keep skirting the topic. Not after this, and swallowing he leant in.

“When this is over, we’re going to have a talk, and not just about this,” he promised.


End file.
